AN: Hello everybody:) I'm so so so sorry I haven't updated in a a while. I have been super busy with stuff. For example the Amp Awards, which were great, but I had to put in so much effort it is unreal. I won an iPhone 4s and had an amazing night though, so it was aaaallll worth it!

Anyway, I should stop prattling on now so enjoy this chapter.

-Erin

P.S Shit goes down in the chapter... :o

John and Sherlock officially started 'going out' a week later.

Mrs Hudson was extremely happy.

Lestrade said "Finally." when he was told the news.

Molly tried to smile and be happy for them but Sherlock noticed a touch of sadness in her eyes as she congratulated John.

Anderson and Donovan were always sniggering like five year olds but Sherlock and John didn't really care.

They were happy. Truly completely happy. The sort of happiness that filled you like sunlight and made you want to sing. John found himself smiling at random moments just because he was finally with the man he loved. They both realised that it was worth the wait. Every kiss, every touch, every kind word was so much better when they had both been longing for this sort of thing for months. Sherlock had been starved of affection his whole life and so finding someone that loved him as unconditionally as John did made him feel better than he ever had in his whole life. It made him feel normal. But in a good way.

So normal in fact that most days he actually bought milk.

John was sat in his chair, intently studying the newspaper, skipping the football section but focusing on the crime part. A double murder, a couple of suicides and one captured criminal. John could almost picture Sherlock stating how 'boring' they were. But Sherlock was out getting some case files from Lestrade so John could relax in the flat without the detective fussing over him. As much as John loved Sherlock he hated to be fussed over which was one of the reasons he joined the army. Rather than constantly getting asked if you were okay, over there it was more like get up, there is nothing wrong with you. John found that the jump from army to living with Sherlock quite easy. Well until now that is.

Sherlock started worrying over John because he started collapsing again.

The blogger could see why Sherlock was so concerned but to him it was quite unnerving to see Sherlock caring about anyone, least of all him, but he supposed he would get used to it. This sudden 'being looked after' thing left John feeling a bit irritated. However he went along with it because he knew if the situation were reversed he would be constantly worrying over his boyfriend.

The door swung open and John looked up to see a soaking wet Sherlock enter the room. The blond man smirked and said, "I said you should have taken an umbrella."

Moments later he felt a soggy coat land on him, covering his face and soaking the newspaper. He pulled the coat off himself, feeling grumpy at being all wet, expecting Sherlock to be stood by the door. So when John finally got his vision back he was surprised to see Sherlock standing 2 feet away from him, breathing deeply, chest straining the purple material.

"Sherlock?" John said, confused, only to be silenced by a wave of Sherlock's hand. The detective had a strange look in his eyes but it was one John recognised. He was thinking deeply about something that required his complete attention. The shorter man stood up, picking up the sodden coat and went to drape it over a radiator when a hand grabbed his wrist and trapped it in a vice-like grip. John turned to see Sherlock staring into his eyes looking frantic.

"Sherlock?" He asked again, genuinely worried about his best friend.

"Tell me everything you have eaten or drunk in the past 2 days." Sherlock said, snapping out of his trance.

"I don't get it-"

"Tell me!" Sherlock half yelled, pulling John towards him, gaze frantically searching his face, "Tell me." He whispered.

"Yesterday I had bacon for breakfast, I had a chicken and salad sandwich for lunch and lamb stew for dinner. I had some jam on toast for breakfast this morning and had beans for lunch."

"Drink, what did you drink?" Sherlock said, desperately.

"Um.. Tea, beer and water… Why?"

Sherlock let go of John's wrist, walking into the kitchen, grabbing things from cupboards and placing things under his microscope. His thoughts were racing, like a train barrelling through a station, completely uncontrollable. All he could do was try to hold on and follow the brief flashes that were scattering across his mind. John. Eating. Drinking. Poison, no not poison. A problem. An experiment. Water, no too common. Beer, too common again. Tea, everybody drinks tea. But people drink it in different ways. Tea. Components of tea. Tea bag. Unlikely to be the problem. Milk, again unlikely. Water, already ruled out. Sugar. Wait, Sugar. The experiment, the experiment with sugar.

"What sugar do you use?" Sherlock spurted, turning to face John, eyes flickering widely around the room. The shorter man walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a small plastic container full of sugar cubes.

Sherlock recognised them immediately. They were the ones he used for the experiment. Slowly he picked one up, cradling it between his fingers before slamming it down onto the table. He picked up a few of the scattered grains and examined them under the microscope. That was when it all pieced itself together.

It was the sugar making John faint.

It was the sugar that made John collapse.

It was Sherlock's sugar that was hurting John. It was exactly what he had been afraid of. Then suddenly a thought struck him. If John had been taking the sugar then maybe it wasn't true. The whole purpose of the sugar was to make John talk about his deepest feelings; perhaps the sugar took what he thought he was feeling.

John might not be in love with me. The sugar hurt him, my sugar hurt him.

Those are the only thoughts that fill his head and then wham, like a train barrelling into him Sherlock realised that it was him that nearly killed John too.

If John hadn't collapsed there never would have been a fire and John wouldn't have nearly died.

"Sherlock?" John repeated, touching his friends arm lightly. Sherlock, looked up, like a rabbit caught in the headlights and met John's kind, warm eyes. Safe John, lovely John. Sherlock nearly threw himself into John's arms, begging to be forgiven, hoping John would still love him. His body however had other ideas and he sprinted out of the flat into the wet, rainy London night, hating himself for what he had done.

(insert Eastenders credit music here..)